


Professional Pride

by accol



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Gratuitous Smut, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad Colbert took two types of clients, both needed taking care of... in one sense of the word or the other.  District Attorney Nathaniel Fick happened to fall in both categories.  When the sedan's window lowered and Brad leaned inside, neither of them knew how fucked they'd be.  </p><p>An Escort!Brad and DA!Nate fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first fics I started for GK way, way, way back. It's my end-of-year resolution to get it tidied up and published somewhere other than the locked depths of LJ. Thanks to nomorerippedfuel for the banner!

Brad's eyes flicked to his watch when his phone buzzed.  It was the agency.  

“Meet the client's car at 7:30 PM _sharp_.”  

He was always punctual.  It rankled that the dispatcher sat behind a desk spooning out protocol like he was a recruit.Brad took down the specified address and compartmentalized his annoyance.  

"You are to bring your standard kit.  This gentlemen requires discretion. Further instructions will arrive within the hour."

Brad looked at his watch again:  17:07.  One hundred forty-three minutes.   

The dresser drawer barely whispered on its slides when he pulled out a pair of track pants and tugged them on.  He checked the ankle holster beneath the left cuff.  

The sun was making its way lower in the sky. It glared on the river orange-white, pressing its image onto Brad’s retinas while he ran.   _Tha-thump.  Tha-thump._  His heartbeat was steady, giving pace while he mentally organized his supplies.  Every tenth footfall he moved his mind’s eye to the next item, inspecting each for function and usefulness.

Two distinctly different types of jobs fell inside Brad's professional scope.  Handcuffs were valuable tools in both.  They were in his case, cleaned and cared for.

Thirty-two minutes burned.  

It was Friday.  In Brad’s line of work that meant the dispatcher had given him a high-roller.  Subtlety would be appreciated.  He stood under the shower, breathing the quietly masculine scent of the sandalwood soap.  He imagined his yet faceless, nameless client inhaling it off his skin.  

18:04.  He toweled his hair and looked at the rack of suits in the closet.  Dispatch had sent a vague update.   _Power player.  One-off job._  Without more recon, Brad defaulted to a well-tailored suit in classic black.  He added a textured tie, something that would feel interesting against skin.  

He preferred these clients.  They were easy to satisfy.  Fuck hard or be fucked hard.  Their powerful, public positions meant they valued privacy and anonymity as much as Brad did.  There was never a concern that they would become too attached.  

It was 18:45.  Forty-five minutes ‘til go.  Brad adjusted the pocket square in his suit jacket.  He glanced out the apartment window.  Clouds were rolling in.

A familiar pattern of three knocks came at Brad's apartment door.  An envelope slid underneath.  Brad retrieved it and read the contents.  The agency contracted special high risk, high payout jobs though a confidential side contact.  Tonight was a standard retrieval operation.   _Bring target to specified location at 8:30 PM._  Brad put the envelope in the inner pocket of his jacket and picked up his briefcase.  Two clients, different desires.

At precisely 7:30 PM, a black sedan pulled to the curb.  Brad approached the deeply tinted window.  He caught his drizzle-distorted reflection before the window rolled down.  Action.

"Sir?"

The interior of the car was dark.  Shadows obscured the man’s eyes, but a swath of light illuminated his lips.  Brad was taken for a moment by how pink they were.  Then came the man's gesture for Brad to get in.  Classic suit.  Well-manicured hands, long fingers.  Judging from leg extension, approximately Brad's own height.

Jobs like this were a win-win for Brad.  If the client was appealing, then he got a good fuck before he got paid.  If they weren’t fuckable, or if they had intolerable kinks, then he simply fulfilled the side contract directly.  C-levels with booze problems were the most onerous.  The sour smell of drunkenness on their skin turned his stomach.  Brad's eyes flitted back to the man’s mouth.  There was no odor of alcohol or concealing breath mints in the car.  No bottles or tumblers, no powders.  

The man’s knee was bouncing slightly.  “Ok,” he exhaled.  Nerves, interesting.  “Call me Nate.”

“I’m Brad.  Pleased to meet you, sir.”  High-rollers expected deference.

“Don’t do that.”  But not apparently this one.  “Please.  I get that all day long.  I want you to call me Nate.”  Ferocity was beneath the surface of this one.  Frustration.  Exhaustion possibly.

“Certainly, Nate.”  

Nate's shoulders dropped slightly.  Stress dissipating a fraction.  Brad's eyes followed the press of Nate's lips together, reading his tension there.  He wondered what was on the other end of the retrieval op for him.  

Their car drove down an alley to the back of a hotel.  Nate got out first.  Brad noticed his ass.  It was a particularly nice ass.  Fit, rounded, two good handfuls.  Nate looked back and caught Brad staring.  In the full light, Brad thought he saw a hint of a blush high up on Nate’s cheekbones.  Disarming.  His eyes were brilliantly green.  Nate's gaze struck Brad, holding him motionless for a breath.  He looked younger than expected.  Trim and elegant, perhaps in his early 30s.  Harvard handsome.  Brad’s dick wasn't going to need to bluff his way through this job.  

Brad broke through his momentary stupor.  This was District Attorney Nathaniel Fick.  He had been all over the news for successfully prosecuting a high profile mob boss and opening a case on a second.  Conti family.  Upstart lawyer with backbone.  Clever and ballsy.  Brad had read the whole thing in yesterday's paper.

This was context for the envelope’s task.

He carefully steered them away from the security cameras by putting a hand on Nate’s lower back.  It was clearly not a casual touch.  Brad let a few of his fingers drift lower.  

Nate pressed the button to call the service elevator.  He scanned the empty corridor.  They were alone.  

“I need this,” Nate said under his breath.  He met Brad's eyes.  It was intense and pleading simultaneously.  “This is… outside the norm.”  Nate didn't elaborate, but Brad understood.  He hadn’t hired an escort before.  

Brad smiled and pulled a small tin out of his pocket.  When the elevator door opened, he quickly swiped some black grease over the security camera’s lens.  Comprehension and a touch of gratitude swept through those green eyes.

“Our business meeting requires discretion,” Brad said in way of explanation.  “I also keep this on hand,” Brad held the grease tin between thumb and forefinger before pocketing it with a sly look, “for clients interested in discussing the ins and outs of football, let's say.  Or the military,” Brad added with a pointed look and an eyebrow raise.  He wiped the excess grease from his finger with a handkerchief in a deliberately slow motion.  

Nate didn't rise to Brad's bait.  Instead he pressed the button for the 64th floor.  The numbers begin their slow ascent.  His hands gripped the rail that circled the elevator compartment at hip height.  White knuckles.  Brad slotted next to Nate and let their pinky fingers brush.  Nate didn’t pull away, so Brad linked his finger around Nate’s.  

...3...6...11...15...

“When we get upstairs, I don’t want to make any decisions.  I spend all day making decisions.  I want you to make the decisions.”  Nate's voice was even.  

“Understood.  Before we get there, then, I need you to be more specific.  What’s off limits?”

Nate looked away to a blank spot on the elevator wall.  His fingers tightened around the rail, around Brad’s.  “No pain,” he said quietly.  He met Brad's eyes again for emphasis.  

Brad cupped Nate’s cheek.  “Not a problem.”  

An unexpected twist of guilt shocked Brad.  He didn’t use pain to fulfill his contracts unless absolutely necessary.  But, promising no pain felt like a lie.  However adept the DA was at seeing truth through lies in a professional setting, here Nate was literally putting himself into Brad’s hands.  

Fuck.  No.  Nate was a client.  He was a client and a contract however appealing he may be.  Compartmentalize.  

The floor number flicked to 27.  

“You are going to let me kiss you.”  Brad surprised himself by wholly failing to compartmentalize.  Escorts weren’t paid to kiss, and neither were mercenaries.  Brad Colbert was not one for the intimacy of kissing.  Except, apparently, this time.

Nate looked at Brad’s mouth in invitation.  The tension was already leaving his face.  

“Close your eyes,” Brad said softly, running his thumb across Nate’s eyebrow.  The crease between his brows eased.  If he wanted to skip the fucking, this would be the optimal time to subdue Nate.   _The target_.  

Brad didn’t want to skip the fucking.  

“Focus on me.”  His breath gently moved the hair at Nate’s temple.  Their noses brushed.  Brad’s lips traced the contours of Nate’s face, whispering over his skin.  It was the idea of a kiss.  It was Brad reining himself in.  

Nate made a sound in the back of his throat.  

“More?” Brad’s mouth hovered over Nate’s.

A nod.

Brad pressed forward.  The tips of their tongues slid together just as the elevator dinged.

Nate jerked away like he’d been shocked.  He ran his hands down the front of his suit coat.  

“Shall we?” Brad gestured to the hallway.  Three down, room on the left.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Brad turned to Nate.  “Hang your coat in the closet and sit on the bed.  Take off your shoes and socks.”

Nate looked relieved, and he did exactly as he was told.  He tucked his socks inside his shoes and put them neatly alongside the bed.

“Excellent,” Brad said.  He dragged the pad of his thumb across Nate's lower lip.  Then he brought it to his own mouth, sucking away the whisper of Nate's taste.  “You’re going to watch while I undress.”

Nate’s breath caught.  He nodded his assent, eyes wide.  Nate's attention was absolute.  It felt tactile.  Brad loosened the first button of his suit coat.  He imagined Nate's mouth closing around his fingertips, sucking his fingers inside.  He unfastened the other button.  Nate gripped the edge of the bed, otherwise keeping still.  First one arm, then the other came out of his suit coat.  

Then, the impossible. The envelope slid out of Brad’s pocket and fluttered to the floor between them.  

Less than a second ticked off the clock.  A blink, and Nate lunged at him, throwing him brutally against the dresser.  Suffocating.  Air gone, knocked out him in one blow.  One goddamn unprofessional moment of inattention, and he was pinned.  Arm jammed under Nate’s knee.  Shit.  Fishmouthing for breath, Brad kicked Nate off balance and rolled.  Momentum worked in Nate’s favor.  He rolled them again and forced both of Brad’s wrists under his body. Body weight and strong thighs had Brad immobilized.   

Nate held him with a forearm across his neck.  His eyes flashed with rage.  “Who the fuck are you?  That’s Conti’s stationery.  Same stuff he sent a barely veiled threat to me on yesterday.  Are you working for him?”  Nate’s voice was steely anger.  

“You are not as innocent as you look, Mr. District Attorney,” Brad gasped from beneath Nate’s hold.  He was impressed.  Annoyed at himself, yes, but fucking impressed as hell with this man on top of him.  Very few people could get past his defenses.  He smiled a genuine smile despite his current discomfort.  

“Goddamn it!  Can’t a guy just get laid in this city?  There have to be hired assassins every-fucking-where!”

“I’m not here to kill you.”

“Is that right.  What then?  Deliver me to the people who will?  Fuck you.  It isn’t happening.  What are you getting paid?”

Nate was interrogating him.  Shockingly, Brad answered.

“$15,000, due on receipt.”

“When?”

“8:30.”

“I’ll pay you that plus another fifty if you drop Conti and work for me.”  Nate had Brad by the necktie.  “No.  Work _with_ me.  We’ll go in there at 8:30 and settle this thing.”

Brad didn’t need to think about it.  “That is acceptable.”

“Your discretion is paramount.  If an iota of this gets out to the press, I will end you.”

“Agreed.”

Nate looked into Brad’s face, searching it for any sign of deceit.  Finding none, he relaxed his iron grip.  Brad’s aching arms were freed from underneath him, and the first thing he did was run his hands up Nate’s thighs.  

He could see the nightstand clock from his position on the floor.  “It’s only 7:50.”

“Fucking me was your bonus?”  Nate laughed darkly, but put his hands over Brad’s.  He pushed them higher.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”  Some of the buttons were missing from Nate’s shirt.  Brad thought about ripping the rest of them free.

“That is acceptable,” Nate said, echoing Brad’s words with a smirk.  “You’d better hurry, Brad.”

“Same rules?”

“Fuck, no,” Nate answered hungrily.  “Now that you’ve got my adrenaline pumping, all bets are off.  Get up.”

Nate grabbed a handful of Brad’s shirt and yanked him upright.  Fuck hard or be fucked hard.  They tore at each other’s shirts and buckles.  Nate was his match.  Hand on nape, he pulled Brad in for a kiss.  Tongue-to-tongue, chest-to-chest, toe-to-toe in a pile of discarded clothing.  

“Ah, fuck,” Brad hissed.  He lifted Nate and threw him back on the bed sprawling.  Held him.  One hand on the center of his chest, and Brad kissed his way down.  He licked Nate’s nipples to attention before sliding back up to his mouth.

“Your lips are...,” Brad couldn’t find the word.  “Distracted me since 7:30.  I want to kiss you like in the elevator.”

Nate moaned his approval.  “You’re going to drive me to the edge if it’s soft like that.”

“That’s the idea,” Brad said.  

He laid his full weight on top of Nate.  Nate dug his fingers into Brad’s hips, pulling him closer still.  Greedy for contact, both of them.  Brad ghosted his lips across Nate’s.  The heat in them was almost too much temptation.  He wanted to devour him, to thrust his tongue into Nate’s mouth.  But he kept the touch maddeningly light.   _Chase me_ , his kiss said.  

Nate strained to get closer.  He reached for Brad’s shoulder to reel him in and close the distance between their lips.

“Uh uh,” Brad breathed.  He grabbed Nate’s wrist and pushed it to the bed.  “Not quite at the edge yet.”  He pulled one of Nate’s earlobes through his teeth and then exhaled hot air over it.  Nate squirmed beneath him, rubbing against Brad’s cock deliciously.

“Brad!  We don’t have time for this!”

“Nate, try to enjoy this,” Brad whispered with his lips against Nate’s neck.

Brad felt the growl rise from Nate’s chest before Nate flipped him.  “I’m not going to Conti’s with blue balls,” he hissed before crashing his mouth onto Brad’s.  

Brad wrapped his legs around Nate and locked his ankles together.  They rutted against each other.  No grace, only desperation.  

“Come on,” Nate grunted.  

He thrust his hand between them and wrapped a fist around both of their cocks.  The dry friction made everything feel like it was on fire.  Heat like a desert summer.  His other hand went to Brad’s mouth, and Brad took those long fingers onto his tongue.  Brad shifted his hips and the head of his cock pressed past Nate’s with a satisfying jerk.  

The room was filling with sharp exhales and soft grunts.  Brad grabbed handfuls of Nate’s ass, forcing their cocks to grind together.  One of his fingers crept down the cleft and found Nate’s hole.  

Nate hissed, “What’s in that briefcase?  There’s got to be lube in there.”

Brad grabbed the back of Nate’s neck and kissed him like he had never, ever kissed anyone before.  It was raw, brutally honest and needy.  Brad was _in_ this kiss.  Nate kissed him back with the same intensity.

“I am telling you to fuck me, Brad.  Put your dick in my ass.  We don’t have time for teasing.”

Brad’s grin threatened to split his face.  Nate Fick was something else.  He wanted everything from him at once.  He pushed Nate off and dove for his case.  Lube and a condom.  They were donned before he was back to the bed, slick all over the fingers of his right hand.

Nate was already on his hands and knees, opening his ass to Brad’s wet fingers.  Brad pressed in gently.  Nate, however, was not having tentative bullshit.  He thrust back hard.  

“Give me another.”  Nate dropped his shoulder to the mattress and reached back to grab for Brad’s hip.  “Do it.  I want it.  I want you to fuck me.”

Brad followed orders.  He lined up and pressed inside Nate’s warmth, not waiting for Nate to recover his breath.  Nate met every snap of Brad’s hips, until he was buried to his balls.  Every time they slapped his skin, Nate cried out.

“Fuck!  Yes!  Unhh!”

Brad grabbed Nate’s arm and shoulder for leverage.  He drove into him until a constant, desperate moan came from him.  

“Turn over.  Come on.  I want to see your face,” Brad said, pulling out and throwing Nate onto his back.  

Nate grabbed the back of Brad’s neck with one hand and Brad’s cock with the other.  He guided him back to his ass, knees lifted high.  Brad pressed in slowly.  He savored the look of ecstasy on Nate’s flushed face.

Nate threw his head back and grabbed the back of his knees.  Brad ran his teeth over Nate’s neck.  Slow, in.  Slow, out.  

“Tease,” Nate accused him though their kiss.  “Don’t fucking stop.”  

Nate’s insistent fingernails on Brad’s ass made him increase the pace.  He buried his face in Nate’s neck.  Nate’s ass tightened and squeezed around him.  

Then Brad’s fingers were warm and wet in Nate’s mouth.  His mouth bobbed and it went straight to Brad’s cock.  This was Brad’s limit.  He groaned into Nate’s neck, and then brought his mouth up to replace his fingers.  

“Look at me,” Brad said.

“ _You_ fucking look at _me_ ,” Nate countered.

Their holds on each other were fierce, muscles flexing in exertion.  Sweat glistened on their faces.  Every time one of them tried to change his grip, the other would angrily pull or swat or grab, grunting for the pace to increase.  They fucked each other into an oblivion of come and raspy, euphoric yells.  

At 8:15, Brad straightened his suit and shared a determined look with Nate.  Nate looked wild and fierce, determined.  He was flushed from their fuck and beautiful.  

After all this, the shit with Conti, Nate would be on the come down.  Chances were good he’d need to deflate.  No decisions.  Brad would be ready to give orders or pick up the pieces.  He was all in.  Less than an hour into this, and he was in.  

Nate yanked the hotel door open and they headed for the docks.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mary Poppins’ bag,” Nate blurted to no one.  Then he laughed.  

He laughed a _lot_.  Tears flowed down his cheeks.  His stomach threatened to cramp.  He jammed his fist against his mouth to muffle his hysteria.  Nate Fick was never out-of-control, but this was close.  At least here there were no witnesses.    

Life was absurd.

Less than three hours ago, he was getting out of his shower and heading to pick up an escort.  Once, one time in his life he wanted a (somewhat illegal, somewhat unethical for an attorney) night of anonymous, mind-erasing sex.  He needed the amnesia that repeated orgasms provided.  A few hours without the stress of work, that’s all he wanted.  

But things had taken a dramatic left turn, and Brad’s briefcase had become Mary Poppins’ bottomless bag.

Nate’s laughter died away.  The dark side of tonight's absurdity couldn't be ignored for long.  For one, being jammed in the trunk of a car is goddamn uncomfortable.  A tire iron dug into Nate's ribs.  He pulled against the duct tape securing his wrists.  No give.  He tried digging his elbow down and back to shove it out of the way.  Bad angle.

Nate sighed.  His adrenaline was waning, and his mood was going south in a hurry.  The red of the tail lights was too dim to help.  The sound of the tires on wet pavement didn’t give him any clues.  

It was an eternity before Brad stopped the car and opened the trunk.

“You ok?”

He was grumpy and sore.  He wanted to ask, _Did you drive through every pothole in the Tri-State area?_  But he kept it to himself.  His face, however, must have read his displeasure.

“Twenty minutes of jostling is a fair trade for not getting concrete shoes.”  

Brad said it without a trace of condescension, and that made Nate feel a pang of remorse.  He exhaled long and slow to regain his composure.  

“Please, Brad, would you help me out of the trunk?”  

Nate had meant to sound at least somewhat gracious, but more than a hint of bitterness had crept into his voice.  Realization was dawning that his life had just become royally fucked.  He knew how he’d gotten here: tenacity, putting Viggiano behind bars, getting not one but two of Conti’s underlings to flip.  Nate’s daily routine didn’t include paranoia.  Morning runs didn’t have him looking over his shoulder for tails.  He hadn’t even considered that they’d send people after him.  Apparently he should have.  

Yes, building a case against Conti without having his life threatened was priority one.  But, attacking things head-on was Nate’s hallmark.  Retreat had to be tactical.  An ambush had to come out of nowhere to be effective.  Hell if he knew how he’d accomplish one.  

Brad reached into the trunk and looped Nate’s taped wrists around the back of his neck.  It interrupted Nate’s spiraling thoughts.  That was a good thing.  The last thing Nate needed was to allow helplessness take root.  

The urge to put his mouth on Brad’s was strong and immediate.  Right from the trunk of an unmarked car, trussed up and fake-dead, it was absurd how intense the wave of lust was.  Whiplash.  

Brad grabbed Nate under his knees and back and hauled him out of the car.  A smug smile spread across Brad’s face as he carried Nate bridal style across the threshold of the house.  

“Honey, we’re home,” he quipped.  

“Put me down, Brad,” Nate chided, though there was no real annoyance behind his words.  

“I thought you might need some help.  Since you’re deceased.”

Nate raised his eyebrows.  

Brad chuckled and put Nate’s feet on the floor.  His hands lingered on Nate’s hips.  Nate didn’t hurry to lift his arms over Brad’s head.  Instead, he gave in to his urge and leaned in.  

“You smell great,” he said without thinking.   

Brad stroked along his sides.  

 _Part of the job, probably_ , Nate’s mind supplied.  That was sufficient to dampen his urges.  He was paying Brad.  That was what this was.  Business.  It was fine.  He could work with that.  Professional was what Nate Fick did.

Nate disentangled himself and looked around the foyer.  Brad had said he kept this place for emergencies.  Across the river maybe.  Nate didn’t really know where they were.   

“You’re calm,” Nate observed.

Brad understood the embedded question.  “To be blunt, it’s not my life that is being turned upside down.  Plus, I get to have you in my house,” Brad replied with a lingering look.

“You just met me tonight.”

“Indeed.”

“You’re going to hide me in your house having known me for a matter of hours.  What if I’m annoying?”

“You’re interesting.”

“I have been accused of being bossy.”

Brad raised his eyebrow at Nate knowingly.  “I believe that.  I counter with this:  We already know how well we work together.”

The ride from the hotel to the docks had been productive.  Together they’d come up with the idea to fake Nate’s death.  It had been Nate’s brainstorm, but Brad executed it.  In the span of that ten minute car ride, they had considered every contingency.  Even the scenarios they had no way out of were considered.  Two pairs of hands pulled supplies from the briefcase.  Brad handed him the pliers and battery pack.  Nate handed him the make-up.  Wires connected, clipped, shoved inside the housing.  Bruises applied.  Wrists proffered.  They worked simultaneously.  Diversion and concealment.  

Brad was also talking about working well together earlier in the evening.  On that elevator ride, he’d known exactly what Nate needed.  In the hotel, he’d literally rolled with Nate’s punches.  And, that fuck had been one of the best of Nate’s life.  

Nate held Brad’s gaze.  There was something to this, between them.  But it had to wait.   

“I need to make some phone calls.”  Nate held his wrists out to Brad, gesturing for him to cut the tape off.

“No way, sir.”

“Brad.”

“Nate.  No phone calls tonight.  We have to get you a disposable phone.  You need to think about how to do this without drawing attention to yourself.  You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Time is of the essence.  The longer we wait, the better the chance that any and all evidence will be destroyed.”

“We have to wait for the news to pick up the photograph of your execution.”

A flash of annoyance whipped through him.  Nate pushed through his mental exhaustion and tamped it down.   

“You’re right.  I know you’re right, Brad.”  He knew how things worked in the DA’s office.  This, however, had not been covered in law school.  As nimble as Nate was, this was outside his area of expertise.  

“It will be everywhere by morning.”

Nate sighed.  “I became a lawyer because I love justice.  I want to do the right thing, the noble thing.  I don’t even know what that is anymore.  Do the ends justify any means necessary?  I can’t stomach that.  Ethics matter.”  

Brad quietly pulled out a pocketknife while Nate was venting.  He brought the blade toward Nate’s taped wrists, but stopped before he cut.  

“What if tonight I make the decisions?  That’s what you asked for at the hotel.”

Maybe he hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d asked that of Brad.  It was what he needed though.  Everything on Nate ached.  Physically and mentally.  He was wired and exhausted at the same time.  

“I don’t want to have to think.”  

Brad nodded and cut the tape.  At least for while, there wouldn’t be any life changing decisions to make.  Just sex.

Nate picked at the loosened tape, but the adhesive was stubborn.  His hair was caught.  

“Stop,” Brad said.  “You’re going to let me do that.  Come on.”  

He followed Brad upstairs to the bathroom.  Hand cleaner was retrieved from under the sink, the kind for removing grease.  Orange.  Grit.  

“Take off your coat.  Then sit.”  He pointed at the edge of the tub.   

Nate let his suit coat fall in a pile on the floor.  It was torn on the side, probably irreparably.  The skirmish at the docks had been short, but it had to look real.  There was char on the front of Nate’s shirt from the explosion they rigged.  The porcelain of the tub was cold.    

Brad stood in front of him rolling his own sleeves to his elbows.  His knuckles had gotten barked on something.  The skin was roughened and red.  Nate’s gaze drifted to Brad’s holster.  It sat above his left hip.  Right handed.  Brad unbuckled it, double-checked the safety, and shed it to the countertop.  Then he crouched between Nate’s knees.  

“Good?” Brad asked.

Nate nodded.

Brad reached forward.  It was slow enough not to spook him, but not so slow that Nate felt patronized.  Nate appreciated that balance.  He was jumpy enough that his defenses might have gone up with a sudden motion.  Brad unbuttoned Nate’s shirt; first the cuffs, then the front.  He worked efficiently.  His fingers didn’t fumble.  Every motion was clean.  It was hypnotic.

Brad massaged the cleaner under the edge of the tape on Nate’s left wrist, loosening it little by little.  It felt good.  The quiet felt good.  Nate put his other hand on Brad’s shoulder and squeezed.  Brad looked up and smiled at him for a moment before silently going back to work.  

Why was it happening like this?  Nate was just supposed to be an anonymous john.  Brad was just supposed to be a fuck.  Neither of them were as simple as that.  A sum greater than its parts.

Brad’s thumbs ran tight circles across the inside of Nate’s wrist, finally removing the tape.  “The other one,” he said.  

Nate proffered his right hand.  The cleaner made Brad’s thumbs frictionless on the inside of his wrist.  He gently turned Nate’s arm, smoothing over the rise of Nate’s wristbone.  Brad made quick work of the tape.  

“There,” Brad murmured.  He deliberately held Nate’s gaze and kissed the tips of each of his fingers.  It bridged the space between _comfort_ and _sex_ , being both and neither simultaneously.

“You…”  Nate had no way to finish that thought.  It wasn’t fully realized in his mind before he started speaking.  Brad had a preternatural way of knowing what Nate needed before he knew himself.

Brad untied Nate’s shoes and slid them off.  He neatly tucked Nate’s socks into his shoes.  He’d been watching earlier, at the hotel, when Nate had done the same.  It was tremendously satisfying both in its neatness and attentiveness.  Nate’s eyes lingered on the shoes while he processed this.  Was this Brad as professional escort, or as an alert assassin, or as himself here with Nate?  Perhaps the qualities were too overlapping to be separated.

He only looked back when he felt Brad’s warm fingers slip inside the top of his waistband to unbutton it.  

“Up,” Brad said quietly.  

Nate raised his ass slightly off the tub’s edge, and Brad slid Nate’s trousers and boxers down his legs.  He folded them and laid them on top of the shoes.  

It was Brad’s turn now.  Nate watched silently as Brad took off his clothes.  It wasn’t a strip tease.  It was simply Brad taking his clothes off.  Nonetheless, Nate’s cock took notice when Brad slipped his briefs down his legs.  

Brad caught Nate staring.  “I have cleaner on my hands, and you have it on your wrists.  I probably got some on your stomach when I undid your pants.  We’re taking a shower.”  

How had Brad ended up owning?... possessing?... occupying a house with a shower as huge as this one?   Nate’s first office as a junior partner was smaller than this.  What did Brad have to do for a house this nice?   Maybe Brad hadn’t earned this house by doing mob hits.  Maybe some lonely, old millionaire had just gifted it to him because he was so fucking beautiful.  Gigantic and blond.  The hows and whys didn’t matter for now.  Nate the District Attorney lost the battle to Nate the horny guy staring at Brad’s naked ass.

The shower was already steaming.  “Come on,” Brad beckoned.  

More than anything Nate wanted to shove Brad against the tile and fuck his mouth with his tongue.  Or to wrap Brad in his arms and kiss him thank you slow and dirty until the water ran cold.  

Nate didn’t get to decide, though.  That was Brad’s job tonight.

Brad lathered up a washcloth and ran it across Nate’s wrists.  Nate was coming to understand that Brad didn’t do frivolous things.  He washed Nate’s skin to make it clean.  There wasn’t any intentional teasing with the texture of the cloth, just efficient work.  It couldn’t have taken more than 10 seconds, but the feeling of Brad’s hands firmly gripping his forearm lingered when Brad turned to rinse the cloth.

He wanted to reach out and grab Brad’s hips.  He imagined fucking him right here in the shower with the steam swirling around them.  Brad turned back around and grinned like a shark.

“That’s the second time I caught you looking at my ass,” Brad teased.  “I’ll let you touch eventually.  First close your eyes.”

Nate obeyed.  Then Brad’s soapy hands were on his chest.  They ran lower, rubbing Nate’s skin in lazy patterns.  The scruff on Brad’s cheek brushed against his ear.

“Don’t open your eyes until I say so.”

A strangled noise came from Nate’s throat when Brad’s fingers scissored through the hair around the base of his cock.   

Brad’s hands swept over Nate’s skin.  Blind, all of Nate’s senses kicked into high gear.  The sensation of Brad’s fingernails scratching across his pubic bone and hips.  The suck of Brad’s lips when they closed over one of his nipples.  The rasp of his tongue following.  Nate tangled his fingers into Brad’s wet hair.  He tried pushing him lower, just a few bounces on his cock.  But, Brad chuckled and stood up.  

“Pushy for someone who doesn’t want to make any decisions.”  Brad was so close that the head of Nate’s cock brushed each of their stomachs in turn.  Brad ran a soapy finger down the cleft of Nate’s ass.  

“Brad--”  

Brad stopped him with a kiss.  It wasn’t teasing like in the elevator or brutal like in the hotel room.  This kiss made every nerve in Nate’s lips talk to his cock.  There was no room for breath.  Nate tightened his grip on Brad’s hair.  Brad hummed his approval against Nate’s lips.  He maneuvered Nate against the wall of the shower, arms positioned behind Nate to keep him off of the cool tile.  

Everything desperate and base sprang awake.  He rutted against Brad and tried to quicken their kisses.

“Not yet,” Brad said, pulling away.  “We’re going to finish showering and then we’re going to the bedroom.”

“You are a cocktease.”  

Nate’s eyes were still closed when Brad washed his hair and rinsed away the soap.  He picked up Nate’s hand and put some shampoo in it.  The instructions were clear enough.  It was time to reciprocate.  He lathered the soap through Brad’s hair.  He ran his thumb and forefinger down the shells of Brad’s ears, pulling on his earlobes gently.  Nate’s cock throbbed next to Brad’s.  Without sight, Nate could only guess what expression Brad was wearing on his face.  He hoped it was the same confusing mixture of calm and euphoria that he felt right now.  

Brad rinsed them off and turned off the water.

“Open your eyes so you don’t slip, and stand on the rug.”  

Brad dried Nate as efficiently as he’d done everything else.  

“Why are you doing all of this?” Nate asked.

“What makes you think I don’t treat all of my high rollers like this?”

Despite the teasing tone that Brad used, Nate felt an unexpected pang of jealousy in his gut. “Do you?  This is because I am paying you?”

“Nate, no.”  Brad palmed Nate’s jaw to make sure they were eye to eye.  “I don’t bring all of my targets here.  I bring zero of them here.  I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who know that this is my place.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t ask to kiss my clients either.”

“So, what is this?”

“Why are you interrogating me about this?"  Brad sighed and capitulated.  “You got the jump on me in the hotel room, so you know we’re more or less matched for strength which surprised and intrigued me.  We fucked the sense out each other in some of the best sex I’ve ever had, that I would have paid _you_ for.  We planned your death together and then made it happen -- I can’t tell you how much I love when a plan comes together that smoothly.  Now I have you naked, clean, and horny in my house.”  Brad wiped away the water that had dripped down from his hair to his face.  “I don’t know how to talk about this kind of thing.  I just... I want you to be around me.”

Nate reached for another towel to dry Brad.  He thought Brad might stop him, but he didn’t.  

“I’m sorry I interrogated you.  Force of habit.”  He scrubbed at Brad’s hair.  “If you’d been doing the interrogating, I would have listed the same things.”  

Nate ran the towel down and around Brad’s ass.  He had found a technicality (doing a proper job of drying Brad off) in order to get what he wanted (a handful of his ass) despite Brad’s earlier instruction to wait.  The skills of a lawyer to find a loophole never went to waste.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did there.  I’ll let the ass grab slide, as long as it doesn’t constitute you violating your own request about making decisions.”  Brad took the towel away from a smiling Nate.  “Do you still want to do this?”

“Do I still want you to tell me what you want, what to do and when, and that you love fucking my ass?  Yes.”

“Mmhm.  Was that last part something we’d negotiated?  Because I don’t remember agreeing to shower you with complements during this.”  Brad stood behind Nate and covered his eyes with one hand.   “Walk forward.  Trust me,” Brad said.

Nate did trust Brad.  Inexplicably, he did.

“Left.”  

Hardwood under his feet.  Brad was walking right behind him.  His cock pressed into the fleshy part of his ass with every step.  Brad put his free arm around Nate’s upper chest.  

“Left.”  

Whenever Brad spoke his breath grazed Nate’s temple.  Carpet.  

“Stop here.  Eyes closed.”  

Nate’s knees were up against a bed.  Brad peeled away.  The bed dipped.  Brad had crawled on.  

“Here are your instructions.  They’re simple.  I’m only giving you one thing to do, but it will take concentration.  Ready?”

Nate felt his body tense.  “Go.”

“You won’t come until I tell you to.”

Nate snuck a peek at Brad.  “What is that going to prove?”

“No peeking... or _peaking_... until I say.”

“Fine.”  Nate closed his eyes and smiled at Brad’s wordplay.

The bed moved again and then everything was the sensation of Brad’s lips wrapping around his cock.  He exhaled sharply.  Jerking, he grabbed for the back of Brad’s head.  

“Are you telling me this won’t take long?”

Nate gritted his teeth.  “I guess it’ll take as long as you say it takes.”

A puff of air cooled Nate’s wet skin as Brad laughed.  “That it will.  Nicely said.”

Brad pressed his tongue hard against the underside of Nate’s cock.  He fisted his hand around the base to hold Nate’s balls down.  Then Brad proceeded to give Nate an incredible blowjob.  Maybe it was the craziness of the night so far.  Maybe it was amplified by having his eyes closed.  All Nate knew was the warmth of Brad’s mouth, the excruciatingly fast pace he was keeping, and the occasional twist of his tongue over the most sensitive part of Nate’s cock.  

“Brad!  Wait!  I can’t,”  Nate gasped.  He dug his fingers into Brad’s shoulders just to hold onto his sanity.  He was tense from his toes to his jaw, trying to hold back his orgasm.  The darkness behind his eyelids exploded with stars.  

The long curve of Brad’s back, falling from his shoulders and rising to his ass as he sucked him.  That beautiful mental picture went straight to Nate’s balls and they tried to push higher.  

Brad’s tongue gave one last, mind-bending flutter across the head of Nate’s cock before he pulled off with a slurp.  Nate doubled over across Brad’s back with a grunt.  Brad’s hand still firmly held him at the base of his cock.  Brad shifted his weight on the bed, and Nate was sure he was getting ready to let go of him.  If he did--

“Don’t.  Don’t take your hand away.  Not yet.”  Nate wrapped his arms around Brad’s back and tried to hold him in place.  He pressed his cheek into Brad’s back.  His heart was jackrabbiting in his chest.

“Or what?  You’ll violate my _one_ instruction?”

Nate pushed a sharp exhale out through his nose.  “Yes.  You’re fucking killing me.  I’m so keyed up.  Brad, please.”  Nate felt like every nerve in his body was directing electrical pulses to his dick.  

“Stand up, Nate.”

He did, and as the seconds passed he got himself under control.  

“Look at me,” Brad said softly.  “I’m going to relax my hand.”

Nate opened his eyes and held Brad’s smirking stare.  He groaned when Brad took his hand away.  Nate was throbbing everywhere, but he had himself under control.

“I would have been easier to stay in the car trunk,” Nate said through gritted teeth.  

Brad laughed, “This torture is more fun.”  He knelt in front of Nate on the bed.  “Is it too much?  Are you going to give up and jerk off?  I might even let you jerk off on me.  Is that what you’re going to choose?”

Brad’s teasing was making Nate feel like his heartbeat was enough stimulation to send him over the edge.  

“I don’t know you well enough to be sure, but I am going to say that you are not a very nice person.”  Nate barely held back his smile when Brad beamed.

“So, does that mean you want to continue?”

“I’d say do your worst, but I can’t even imagine that,” Nate mumbled.    

“Challenge accepted,” Brad said before he kissed Nate in that wild way they had in the hotel room.  Nate kissed him back with just as much passion.  Nate might have been letting Brad have the reins, but he wasn’t broken or passive.

Brad dragged Nate onto the bed.  He manhandled him onto his back and dragged his knee up between Nate’s legs.  Brad muffled Nate’s frantic moaning with a wet kiss.  He slowly and firmly pulsed his knee in the space behind Nate’s balls.  Fire threatened to flare through him.  Brad would milk his orgasm right out of him.

“Stopstopstopstop,” Nate panted.  “Too much.”  He tried to push away.  Brad wasn’t having any of it.

“Not until I say.”  

He threw Nate’s knees up over his shoulders and started in on Nate’s hole with his tongue.  Even though Nate was moaning long and low at the feeling of Brad’s tongue spreading his asshole open, it was a respite.  His cock was leaking from overstimulation.  Another round with his dick in Brad’s mouth and it would have been over.  But the smooth push of Brad’s tongue into his ass... this was a whole different kind of pleasure.  

Brad abruptly stopped, and it was perfect agony.

“The noises you are making, Nate,” Brad rasped.  

Nate unclenched his eyes and found Brad’s to be outright ravenous.  

“Watch my face,” Brad said.  He rolled onto his back in the middle of the bed.  Reddened and full, his cock slapped against his stomach.  He spit in his palm and stroked himself few times.  Nate watched every move of Brad’s hand, drinking in the motions, the grip.  Learning how Brad touched himself.

“No.  Look at my face,” Brad said.  

Brad’s lips curled up with pleasure when Nate complied.  Faster strokes and his eyes glazed.  He refocused on Nate when he slowed his pace.  A sheen of sweat coated him.  Brad was so gorgeous.  Nate’s heart hurt with it.

“I want to touch you,” Nate whispered.

“I say how.”  Brad pulled a condom and some lube from the bedside table.  “Put this on me with your mouth.”  

Zero hesitation.  Nate lowered his mouth onto Brad’s cock a couple of times before he got the condom ready.  Brad sucked air in through his teeth.

“Goddamn, Nate.”  

Nate smirked at how out-of-control Brad sounded.  

“You can suck me off to your heart’s content another time.  But, this is you making a decision for yourself.  Off limits.”  

“I’ve got my orders,” Nate grinned.  He rolled the condom down Brad’s cock in one smooth motion of his lips.

“Fuck.  You’ve done that before.”

Nate shrugged his shoulders minutely.  He couldn’t resist dragging his tongue up Brad’s length.  It was breaking the rules, but he couldn’t wait.  He grabbed the slick and dripped some down on Brad.  Brad held out his fingers for more there.

“Feet up by my waist and lean back.”  

Nate knew what Brad was asking of him and he was alternately ecstatic and horrified.  Doing this without coming was going to be a marathon.  At least Brad was putting Nate in the position to dictate pace.  

He was still loose from the tonguing, and Brad’s fingers slid inside his hole.  No tentativeness. Brad was a finger deep with no preamble.  He spread the slick liberally.  For that Nate was grateful.  More lube meant less friction, and that meant he might be able to hold on a little longer during this game of Brad’s.

“Now,” was all Brad said.  Nate lowered himself onto Brad’s cock.  

“Jesus fuck,” Brad muttered and Nate said his name.

Nate held his breath when he started fucking himself on Brad.  

“Faster,” Brad said.  

Nate went faster.  His cock bounced on his stomach.  Every time it made him gasp.  

“Go faster,” Brad said.  

“Brad, I...”

“Do it.”  

The muscles of Nate’s legs and arms started to burn as he increased the pace.  The angle of Brad’s cock was perfect.  Brushing against his prostate with every stroke.

“Fuck!  Brad!  Please!”

“Wait for me.  Just a little longer.”  It was pitched low, but that was begging too.

Nate tried to find some deep part of his soul to hide in for just a few seconds.  Some Latin legal terms to recite.  Anything anything anything anything.  

“I... Brad... can’t hold off,” Nate groaned.  

Brad’s hands were on Nate’s hips, forcing him faster.  Precome splattered across Nate’s stomach.

“God, your ass is so tight,” Brad gasped.  “Nate!  Nate... now!”

Nate leaned forward, grabbed his cock, and pulled once before he was spasming on top of Brad.  He was deafened by his own silent yell as thick ropes of come coated his chest and Brad’s.  Thrust after thrust pushed his orgasm out of him.  

And then it was Brad losing control.  He was over the edge with Nate’s name on his lips.

They collapsed together on the rumpled bed.  Nate snaked his hand under Brad and pinched his ass.  Brad just smiled.

“We should get cleaned up,” Brad eventually said.

“It can wait.  I’m dead, so I don’t have to get up for anything.”  Nate’s voice was sleepy and satisfied.

Brad had been right about tonight:  Nate’s life had been turned upside down.  Maybe Brad had also been wrong, because it seemed like his had been too.  


	3. Chapter 3

 

Pre-dawn light was enough to see him.  Nate had a corner of the sheet pulled up to his chest.  His face was stripped of yesterday’s stress.  Lines had eased except for a few fine creases at the corners of his eyes.  Brad shifted closer.  Scents of sex and shampoo mingled in the space above Nate’s skin.  Possessiveness stirred in Brad’s gut.  

People in Brad’s line of work sleep lightly.  Self-preservation dictates that they keep ears open 24-7.  Watch duty never ends when odds say someone will eventually come finish the job.  But last night he’d slept like every ounce of energy had been fucked out of him.  He stretched in satisfaction, feeling the smooth sheets against his skin and touching Nate’s toes with his own.

Then he froze.   

Shit.  This was the District Attorney.  Brad still had the envelope with the mission instructions laid out in black and white.  He had a _target_ in his _bed_ in his _house_.

He yanked himself away from Nate in a moment that felt a lot like being out of control.  Brad was never out of control.  Even in the thick of it last night, in the crossfire from Conti’s goons, he had been fully in control.  This was foreign territory.    

Nate stirred.  He rolled into the space Brad had just vacated.  Fuck, he was beautiful.

Fuck fuck fuck.

 _Itemize.  What do you know?  Lay it out._ Brad started a mental list of all relevant information.

One.  Call Brad’s professions what they were.  There was no debate. Brad had sex for money.  He fulfilled contracts for hire on the side.  Both were beyond the law.  Brad was a criminal and Nate was the District Attorney.  Fucking the DA and bringing him home _after_ he knew about Brad’s vocations had been an exceedingly large lapse in judgement.  

Nate had made some legally questionable choices too.  He’d hired an escort to fuck.  And then, in the heat of the moment, he'd enlisted a hitman to take on Conti.  To prosecute Brad, Nate would have to incriminate himself.  That would never happen for most people.  Self-preservation or embarrassment would keep lips sealed.  By his own admission, however, integrity was a principal motivator for Nate.  Turning himself in to uphold the ideal of justice was a possibility.

Nate murmured something in his sleep.  He put an arm over Brad’s waist.  

Weighing his chances, Brad let himself conclude that the District Attorney was unlikely to become a problem.  The warmth and solidness of Nate’s touch was making it hard to compartmentalize.   

Two.  Brad operated independently.  He worked solo.  No partners in crime.  Dispatch farmed out clients, but Brad steered operations.  It kept the risk down.  

Now, however, Nate was dependent on Brad.  Conti's arms were long, and Nate couldn’t leave this house without recon.  Contact with the outside world would be throttled back to zero.  Brad would bring Nate his supplies and his information.  Nothing without Brad’s input.  They had to maintain the illusion that Nate was dead.  

He’d known Nate for less than 12 hours, and he knew Nate was going to hate it.  

Things had happened between them that said Brad may have met his mental and physical match.  It violated every one of Brad’s rules about maintaining distance with his clients.  High rollers never made emotional connections.  Contracts were nonentities, packages to be delivered.  Hell if Brad knew why Nate was different.  But he was.  Plotting out last night’s op with him had felt right.  They’d made do with spit and instincts.  

He looked down at Nate.  This thing with Conti wasn’t going to be solved by Brad.  It had to go through Nate.  Brad’s status quo had to change.  He was going to have to bend every rule he had, starting with sharing the reins.  He reluctantly checked a second concern off his list.

Three.  Ninety percent of survival in Brad’s line of work was absolute discretion.  Bringing a target or a client to his house, even his secondary house, was not consistent with that.  Nate had turned into a client with unique needs; a client that required a hiding place.  Brad had hiding places for just about every kind of thing.  Weapons, cars, documents, money.  There were enough of those things stashed in this house to solve problems.

An upstate hotel could have met Nate’s need.  Brad's hadn't brought him upstate, had he.

Brad never brought anyone home.  He didn’t bring home fucks that he picked up on his own time.  He didn’t host end-of-the-year office parties.  He sure as shit didn’t bring work home with him.  

Nate’s breath was coming slow and even against Brad’s side.  Last night hadn’t been just a good fuck.  But, how was Nate different from other tricks?  Brad had topped clients.  He’d been topped before.  But this out-in-the-open, fluid power dynamic between them was something Brad hadn’t encountered before.  There were layers to it.  He wanted more of it.  

Brad studied Nate’s relaxed face.  A wandering thought -- he and Nate waking up late in his apartment.  His primary.  Light streaming in across Nate’s face.  Coffee together in the kitchen. Sharing sections of the newspaper.  

Fantasies about domesticity were foreign.  

Brad stopped trying to check stuff off of his list.  He wanted Nate here, whatever the reason.  What he didn’t like was that it was out of character for him.  Consistency was Brad’s hallmark; consistency and an ability to compartmentalize his emotions.  

He gave into the urge to brush a strand of hair away from Nate’s forehead.  

Brad got up and took a cold shower.  It didn’t clear his head in the slightest.  Nate was still sleeping when Brad left to get some disposable phones.  

 

****

 

Nate was brooding into a bowl of cereal when Brad got back.   He was also wearing Brad's clothes.  Of course he would be.

“You didn’t leave,” Brad said.  

Nate finished chewing his bite.  Swallowed.  “You did.”

Brad unpocketed the phones and slid them across the counter toward Nate.  “Untraceable.  New.”

Nate picked one up and held the power button to turn it on.  

“But don’t get any ideas.  Your office cannot come here to assemble the case.”

Nate’s eyebrows wrinkled in annoyance.  “Listen, I can guess that this situation,” Nate gestured at the space between he and Brad, “is not your regular modus operandi.  I thank you for your assistance last night.”

Was this Nate keeping things strictly professional?  

“I agreed to help you with Conti in exchange for the payment you suggested, and I intend to do that.  Starting with the phones.  You need information, and it’s got to come discreetly.”

“Yes.  Exactly.  Can we get into my office?”  Nate fell into work mode.

“Highly unlikely.  Your coworkers are probably being tailed.  Neither of us can be seen there or our situation will become obvious.”

Nate began pacing the kitchen.  “We need to feed some leads to the police.  They have been doing exactly fuck-all to get Conti.”

“Paid off or scared shitless, most of them.  But I know a guy.”

“How well do you know this guy?”  

Was that jealousy?  Brad grinned.  “Enough to know he gives zero shits about mob threats.  He's a detective.  More coffee than cop, but he's solid.”

Nate was still pacing.  “It’s a start.  If they're not on it already, give him some details about my murder.  It will get the cops digging.”

Brad reached out and caught Nate’s waist.  “Hey.  Stop.”  

Nate flashed an annoyed look at Brad.  He was effectively imprisoned here while Conti was free to carry on living his criminal life.  Brad would be itching to do something too.

“We have to go to Conti’s,” Brad said.

“We as in _you_?”

“We as in _we_.”

Nate acknowledged Brad’s plan with a nod.  

They spent the afternoon focused on exactly how they were going to get inside Conti’s compound. For his part, Brad walked Nate down to the basement workshop and showed him some of his stash.  Nate quipped about James Bond.  

“Does that make you M?” Brad responded.

Nate put down Brad’s bullet proof vest, and said, “Yep, or a Bond boy.”  He gestured to his body with a downward sweep of his hands.  

“I have to be honest.  I’d watch the fuck out of that on lonely nights.”

Nate’s returning smile was radiant.  “Come on.  Let’s get to work.”

Nate surprised him by interjecting possible Bond boy names as they plotted their mission.  Ivan Koch.  Bobby Dangler.  Rock Schafft.  Dick Alman.  Rod Goode.  Max Everhard.  Brad added a few with a laugh:  Prince Albert.  Magnus Jonsson.  

“Philip Latio, goes by Phil.”

Nate laughed hard enough to turn red.  Appealingly, it crept beneath his collar to his chest.

They went over scenario after scenario.  Brad admired Nate’s steel trap of a legal mind and, despite their circumstances, deep ethics.  Nate never looked away or backed down when their eyes met.  More than once they held those looks for longer than necessary.

Just after dark, they were outside Conti’s house, then in it.  Swiftly and silently, they moved through the empty hallways to his office.  Nate donned a pair of cotton gloves and started in on Conti’s computer.  

“Not even password protected,” Nate whispered.

“He's an idiot on multiple levels.”

There was no one else in the house.  Brad had made a couple of calls earlier today.  Conti had a dinner meeting in the city.  Planning on being gone for hours.  

“Is this too easy?” Nate quietly asked as he copied the last file to a jump drive.  

Maybe, but Brad didn’t answer.  He was standing stock still, eyes closed, listening.  Nothing.  He thought he'd heard something.  Brad shook his head slightly.  He took a breath to answer Nate’s question.

The sound of shoes clicked across the foyer downstairs.  A second pair.  Voices.

Shit.  

They locked eyes.  If they were caught, they would be killed.  There was no doubt.  Nate’s pupils widened with his adrenaline rush.  Brad grabbed him bodily, pinning Nate’s arms to his sides.  Hand over mouth, he shoved them both inside the closet.  

Nate exhaled hard over Brad’s hand, making a quiet sound of displeasure.  He turned and shoved Brad against the back wall of the closet instead.  

“I’m not your target.  Don’t treat me like one,” Nate whispered.

“And I’m not your paralegal.  This is my area of expertise,” Brad whispered back.

The outer office door opened, just feet from where they were hidden.  

“-- going down without a goddamn war.  Blew the case against me the fuck up, though.”  It was Conti, and he was laughing in a way that made Brad’s skin crawl.  “That was a good fucking thing to witness.”

“Yes, sir, it was.”  

Conti and at least two colleagues had stomped in.  Glass clinked against glass.

“To your long life, sir.”

“Yeah,” Conti dismissed the toast.  “Who took care of the evidence?  I don’t want that pretty boy floating up in the river next week.”

“The hired guy took him.”

“Well, bring him in here.”

“Uh,” Conti’s guy hesitated.  “He’s off the map, sir.”

Nate exhaled a morose laugh next to Brad’s cheek.  “We’re both ghosts,” he breathed.

Action always got Brad’s blood flowing.  Tonight it was compounded by Nate pressed against him.  They were close enough that Nate’s heartbeat was reverberating in Brad’s chest.

“Can you keep quiet?”  Nate pushed closer.  His erection was obvious.

Brad was surprised.  He was _really fucking_ surprised, but maybe he shouldn’t be.  Nate was the city’s golden boy District Attorney.  That job saw action too, in a courtroom, yes, but action nonetheless.  The power to end or save lives.

Which he was taking in hand right now.  Nate began to unfasten Brad’s pants.  

Brad hissed, “Fuck!”

“That’s the plan.”  Nate’s fingers found skin under the hem of Brad’s shirt.  

Brad would not turn down an opportunity to fuck Nate again.  In fact he would ask nicely.  But men with big-ass guns were on the other side of the closet door.  

His dick had far fewer reservations.  He exhaled hard when Nate’s fingers gripped him at the base.

He was losing it.  They were dicks out in a mobster’s closet.  This violated every one of the personal policies that had kept Brad safe in this profession for years.  Nate was very fucking persuasive though, rubbing Brad’s groin in a steady, undeniable rhythm.  God, that felt fucking fantastic.  Despite himself, Brad leveraged into Nate’s hand.

“Nate.”  Brad didn’t know if he was asking for more or for Nate to stop.  

Nate put his hand loosely over Brad’s mouth and whispered a gentle but commanding “shhh” into Brad’s ear.  He rubbed Brad’s cock more firmly.  He was starting to leak and Nate ran his thumb across the slick head.  It was so fucking good.

“Quiet,” Nate coaxed.  He was telling himself as much as he was telling Brad.  

Brad took it as an order to slowly unzip him and reach inside.  Nate whimpered almost silently.  Fuck.

The rumble of aggressive conversation continued on the other side of the closet door.

The dim light was enough to see the commanding hunger in Nate’s eyes.  It was as obvious as Brad’s willingness to go where Nate would take them.  

Nate nipped at Brad’s lips and pulled his hand out of Brad’s pants.  He drew his teeth along Brad’s neck.

“I want to fuck you.”  

“Christ, Nate.”  

Nate shoved Brad’s pants to his knees with his hands, and then to his ankles with his shoe.  He stood on the crotch of Brad’s pants, pinning him in place.  Brad was trapped between Nate’s hard cock and the closet wall.

The voices in Conti’s office were centered around the desk.  Conti was crowing about import/export.  

Hidden in the closet, Nate pointedly sucked a finger to make it wet.  It left Brad’s field of vision.  Traced down his cock, and then it was pressing down below his balls.  He let him.  Brad pushed his knees apart as much as his trapped feet would allow, just to give Nate room to work.

“I want to get my mouth on you,” Nate whispered.  

Nate’s finger slowly worked the rim of Brad’s ass.  Rubbing and pushing, insistent.  Brad’s fingers scratched into the plaster of the closet wall in order to keep himself silent.  His ass clenched and released.

Nate spit in his hand and went back to work.  Brad bore down and Nate was in him.  His finger fucked in and out, slowly, teasingly.  And then he pushed with a second.  Brad forced his breathing to remain controlled and quiet.  In reality, he wanted to beg Nate to do it, to flip him face to the wall and fuck him from behind.  Nate curled his fingers, and Brad was yelling silently.  He panted desperately into Nate’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Brad gasped.  “I need you in me.”

“Wait.”  He curled his fingers again, the asshole.

Brad wasn’t going to be able to wait.  Not with the burn of this inside him.

“-- find that fucker.”

“Sir?”

“Get your ass up out of my chair!”

“Where--”

“For Chrissakes!  Where?  Where?  Do I gotta do everything around here?”

Brad clenched.  His body was pleading for Conti to fuck off.

And then Nate’s fingers slid out.  He was reaching for his wallet, a condom.  He freed Brad’s feet when he stepped back to slide it on.  It was enough.  Enough space to turn and arch his back, thrusting his ass back.

The office door slammed closed and Conti’s yells were muffled, receding.  

A fingertip breached him again, then a tongue.  Brad kept silent.  So wet, so loose, so ready.  Nate’s tongue circled him, dipped inside, flattened to stretch him.  He spit, dove in to spread it, spit again.  

“Not a sound,” Nate whispered as he stood.  There was no knowing how far Conti and his men had gone.  

Shoes clacked across the tile floor downstairs.  

Brad’s mouth opened in a silent yell of pleasure as Nate slid home.  Nate’s hand covered his mouth as insurance, and he tried to bite at Nate’s fingers.  He wanted to hear the sound of their skin slapping together.  He wanted to let the moans escape, raw and incoherent.  He wanted to fill his mouth with Nate’s fingers, to have them press on his tongue to keep him quiet.  The only thing that mattered right now was Nate’s cock fucking his ass so slow that Brad burned with desperation.

It was excruciating.  Nate’s slow pace threatened to drive Brad insane.  His cock throbbed for more, deeper, faster.  

Outside, distant, a car revved.

Nate fucked hard into Brad, only once, taking advantage of the moment of noise to cover their actions.  Brad let out a soft grunt and pushed his ass back onto Nate, burying Nate’s cock further.  Brad’s breathing was erratic.  Nate draped himself over Brad’s back.  They pressed together desperate for as much physical contact as they could manage, but still aware of the life-altering risk beyond the door.

The car squealed out of the driveway, followed by another.  

Nate slid in and out of Brad’s ass steadily, breathing hard on Brad’s neck.  Brad reached back to grab Nate’s hip.  Nate pinned Brad’s wrist behind his back, pulling on Brad’s shoulder for everage as he pounded into him.  Skin slapped against skin.  Brad moaned gutturally.  

“Fuck yes,” Nate said.  

Hungry, primal sounds filled the closet.  

“Come on my cock,” Nate growled.  He spit in his hand and reached around to pump Brad’s dick.  

“Fuck!” Brad yelled.  He was meeting every thrust of Nate’s cock with a backwards thrust of his hips.  His cock fucked into Nate’s fist with every move.  

“Come,” Nate said.  

Brad did as he was told, arching his back with his orgasm.

“Keep... keep fucking me,” Brad gasped.  

Nate’s cock hammered his prostate, milking every drop of his come.  He snapped his hips faster, grunting every time he bottomed out.  

“Brad,” Nate said softly as he came.  

 

****

 

They rearranged themselves quickly.  Nate checked his pocket for the jump drive.  Patted it to show Brad it was still there.  

Brad was dazed.  He was silent in the car, distracted by thoughts of losing his edge and of how much he wanted the man next to him.  Brad had orgasmed in a target’s closet... DNA evidence.  He’d used a sock to clean up what he could.  Poured some of Conti’s sherry on it to obliterate what he could.  Should he retire?  Run?  

He was still dazed when he led Nate into the elevator at his apartment.  His primary.

Nate emptied his pockets onto the kitchen counter.

“Shit!”  Nate suddenly exclaimed.  “Fuck.  Do you have it?”

Brad looked at him sharply.  “Have what?”

“My wallet.  It’s gone.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nate forced his voice to stay even.  “Is it possible to recover it?”

“Possible?”  Brad looked into the distance, calculating the risk, before meeting Nate’s gaze again.  “Yeah, maybe.  But we’d need to surveil the place.  It’d take time.”

“Shit.”  Nate’s mind raced.  If Conti’s people found his wallet, they’d know he was alive.  They’d know he’d been there.  They’d destroy that computer.  His timeline would be shot to shit.

“Chances are good they haven’t found it yet.  We could leverage this.”

Nate gestured for Brad to elaborate.

“Time to make a call.”

 

****

 

“Bradley,” the detective said in greeting.  “I see your standards continue to be sky motherfucking high.”  He eyeballed Nate in the harsh yellow of the streetlight.

“Ray Person,” Brad introduced him.  “Meet Nate Fick.”

“Oh, I know who he is.  And I cannot fucking wait to hear what the fuck is going on.  Last I saw, you were plastered all over my evidence board, Mr. Fick.  Dead as a fuckin’ doornail.”  He flicked the ash off his cigarette.

“It's temporary,” Nate replied.  “Which is why we’re here.”

“Ghost stories are a personal favorite.  You've got my attention.”

Brad and Nate shared a look.  This was it.

“I need you to get a warrant to search Conti’s house,” Nate said.  “Get your people to look for evidence in Conti's office.  The computer, the closet.”

“Dude, I have been trying to get in there for my whole, big boy, police officer life.”

“Ray,” Brad said.

Ray took another drag off his cigarette.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I would jizz myself to get in there.  But there are about a million roadblocks between me and that house.”

“I’ve got a judge,” Nate said.

“Don’t shit with me.”

“Patterson.  He’ll sign the warrant.”

Ray frowned and nodded.  “I’m listening.”

Judge Patterson was a force to be reckoned with.  Nate had clerked for him right out of law school.  He held Patterson in the highest esteem, aspired to be him.  Patterson was the only way.

“You’ve gotta give me something to bring him.  Evidence,” Ray said.  “Otherwise my dick is in the wind.”

Nate and Brad shared another look before Brad pulled out the letter.  Conti’s scrawled signature was plain as day.  Pens could be matched.  Ink, paper.  DNA from the envelope seal if they were lucky.

Ray scowled as he looked it over.  “Fuck, Brad.  What the fuck?  You--”

“I know what it means,” Brad said.

Nate had protested when Brad suggested this.  The consequences were stark.  Nate couldn’t offer Brad immunity.  They’d literally fucked that up.  There was a chance it could still come from Patterson, but the optics of giving someone like Brad immunity were poor.  But, this would get them what they needed.

“Shit, Mr. DA here must be an exceptionally good fuck.”

Nate didn't acknowledge Ray's commentary. He put out his hand for Ray’s phone and punched in Patterson’s home number.

 

****

 

“I’m terrible at waiting,” Nate said.  The urge to pace, to run, anything, was intense.

“Ray’s tenacious.  Must have been a chihuahua in a former life.  He’ll piss on your pantleg, but he won’t let this one go until it’s done.”  

That was something, but Nate needed to work.  “Brad, I need to call my office.”

He got a nod in response and a disposable phone in his outstretched hand.  

Nate was a good judge of character.  He trusted easily, and his bullshit detector was exceptional.  But never had he become so thoroughly consumed by a person as he had by this man in front of him.  The jury was still out on whether this was good or bad, adrenaline-induced or more.  Whatever came out of this, he owed Brad a debt of respect.  He’d fight for him.

“Use the phone for no more than two minutes at a time.  I’ll route the calls through here,” Brad said.  He opened the back of the phone, slid a different SIM card in, and pulled up a site on his laptop.  “This will keep traces from triangulating on my apartment, but it only can hold things at bay for a limited time.  Five calls maximum, and that phone is burned.”

“Understood.”  Nate looked at the second hand on his watch and dialed his ADA.

Nate ran an office of highly talented people.  He had high expectations of them and of himself.  Mike Wynn was the best of the best.  

“Nate?  Shit, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too.”

“What the fuck is going on?  The office thinks you’re--”

“I’m not, but Conti put out a contract on me.”

Mike whistled.  

“Less than optimal, agreed,” Nate replied.  “I need you to pull what we’ve got on that racketeering charge.”

“It’s got too many holes, sir.”

“I know.  We’re going to work on patching them up.”

A skeptical sigh came across the line.  Nate watched the time.  It was down to the last 30 seconds.

“Alright,” Mike said.  “But I want to call a buddy of mine.  I’ll keep it quiet, but we need help on this.”

“I like your initiative.  Thanks.  I’ll contact you in a few hours.”

“Copy that.”

 

****

 

Nate was neck deep in Conti’s files.  What the fuck was Conti hiding?  It had to be more than the small time guns and drugs in these emails.  Women.  Stolen art.  Illegal gambling.  Drugs, the hard stuff and lots of it.  They had to be buried in here somewhere.  In all likelihood, Conti had people assassinated for standing in the way of his power.  Nate must be close to something big or Conti would have stayed aloof.

Brad was staring at his laptop monitor, motionless, thinking.  He was still in his clothes from the run to Conti’s.  The black t-shirt stretched tight around his biceps.  A boonie cap sat next to his mouse.  

It finally occurred to Nate to be surprised that Brad trusted him enough after less than 24 hours to let him be here.  This was his apartment.  The other house may be his, but it’s not _his_.  Nate was seeing behind the curtain because Brad was allowing it.

“Why are you doing this?”

Brad looked up, met Nate’s gaze.  The depth of feeling in his eyes was clear.  So was the confusion and unease.  He didn’t know how to put this thing into words either.  

Nate nodded.  Hopefully they’d eventually have time to process all of this.  

 

****

 

The clock read 5 A.M.  Neither of them had slept.  Nate was still trying to make sense of Conti’s files.  Spreadsheets of numbers.  Vague letters to South American addresses.  He was getting nowhere except bleary-eyed.

Ray had texted Brad an hour ago to say his people were going in.  Brad’s eyes flicked to his dark phone screen every few minutes.

Brad pushed away from the table hard enough to make it squeak against the floor.  “Coffee?”

“I’d love some.”  He felt jittery from lack of sleep and 12 hours of adrenaline.  Maybe coffee wasn’t the wisest choice, but he’d take what he could get to stay alert.

Brad handed Nate an empty mug and steadied the cup as he poured.  It seemed like an excuse for contact.  Nate welcomed it.  His touch was grounding.  

“What are you going to do after?”  Nate didn’t let himself think too hard about Brad entertaining other people.

“I'm not sure.”  Brad put the carafe back in the kitchen.  “Bond boy, maybe,” he quipped.  

“I'd watch that when I'm lonely,” Nate said quietly.  His voice had gone rough with lack of sleep.  It concealed the emotion.

 

****

 

Nate pinged Mike for an update.  

“I called in a favor from an old Marine buddy,” he reported.  “He's with the DOJ, and they've got someone on the inside.”

“Holy shit.”

“Surprised me too.”

“What the hell is Conti into?”

“Deep shit.  I'll give you Poke’s number.  Got something to write with?  He needs to talk to your guy.”

 

****

 

Brad's phone rang.  

“Give me something, Ray.”

Nate could only hear Brad's side of the conversation, but Brad reached over and squeezed his knee.  The raid had yielded something.

“Ok.  See you on the other side.”  Brad’s tone was ominous before he hung up.  “They found your wallet.  They’re using it as evidence that Conti’s responsible for your death.”

“That’s all well and good to get him behind bars, but it won’t stick.  I’ve got to come out of hiding at some point.”

Brad nodded tightly.  Nate squeezed his knee in return.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“They found matching stationery.  Some pens.”

Forensics would match the letter.  Brad would get roped into this.  Conti would get his lawyer to try to pin the whole thing on him.  It had been a calculated risk giving Ray that letter.

“I’m not letting you get swallowed up by this.”

 

****

 

Nate got off the Silver Line at the Smithsonian.  He enjoyed walking across the Mall on his way to his office.  Fresh air woke him up.  A small part of him hoped that one day Brad would appear in front of him, hidden in plain sight.

It had been 15 months since Poke Espera had come to Brad’s apartment, FBI stamped on his badge.  “You telling him or am I?”

Nate suddenly got it.  Brad’s cover was blown.  He was the inside man.  There was no way to go back inside the Conti op.  He couldn’t stay in the open, or the case would evaporate.  Brad didn’t need to say a word.  

“Ok,” Nate said.  It wasn’t, but he could say it was.

Brad shoved his laptop in his bag.  Some shirts, socks.  He wasn’t coming back here.  He cupped Nate’s jaw, and then he was gone.

Espera had driven Nate to a safe house after that.  

“Colbert hit our radar half a year ago.  Independent operator, but sharp as fuck for a white boy,” Poke grinned, before going serious again.  “We’ve got a RICO case on Conti.  All we’re missing is what’s on that drive.”

Nate worked for the DOJ now.  Conti was in the Communication Management Unit at FCC Terre Haute.  Wynn was DA.  Nate had given it up after they put Conti away.

 

****

 

It was a Saturday.  Seventeen months, give or take a week.  

Nate ran down the Mall, looped SCOTUS, and headed back toward the Tidal Basin.  It was a spitting, gray, early spring morning.  Tourists hadn’t started crowding the city yet.  It was quiet.  

Another jogger ran up the opposite side of the reflecting pool.

Nate’s heart thudded.  He kept his route.  His footfalls kept an even pace.  The path was damp.  Puddles were forming in low spots.  He crossed the river onto the little island.  

Beside him, “Shitty day for a run, Nate.”

“Just making the best of what we’ve got,” he replied.

Their steps synched on the boardwalk.  Stride after stride, no one but the two of them.  The Roosevelt Monument emerged from behind the trees.  It was cover enough.

“I missed you,” Nate whispered.  He pushed Brad against the stone wall.  “So much.”

“I’m out,” Brad said in way of explanation.

There was nothing to say in response, except this:  Nate laid a crushing kiss onto Brad’s mouth.  It was a year and a half of tension, gratitude, questions, celibacy.  He pushed aside Brad’s hood and sucked the tendon in his neck.  Stubble rasped his lips.  Brad panted in his ear, shoved his warm hands inside Nate’s shirt.

“I need--”

Nate’s plea was cut off by the sound of chatter.  Runners, a pair, coming around the loop.  

“Ignore them,” Brad said.  His hand was pushing lower, beneath the elastic of Nate’s waistband.  

“Fuck,” Nate gasped.  His hips thrust forward.  It had been too long.  He planted his hands on the monument and fucked into Brad’s fist.  

Brad sucked Nate’s lower lip into his mouth.  He dipped his tongue inside.  And then he was sliding down to get his mouth around Nate’s cock.  Out in the open, leafless trees their only camouflage.  Brad had both hands on his ass, driving him deep into his throat.  Wet, choked off pleasure.  He sucked in air on every up-stroke, buried his nose in Nate’s hair with every down-stroke.  Brad looked up and met Nate’s eyes.  Nate could barely bite back his moans as he came.  

Brad stood and tucked Nate away.  He guided Nate’s hand to his erection, straining in the confines of his briefs and pants.  

“Your place or mine,” he grinned.  

Nate tasted himself on Brad’s lips. “Now that you’ve got my blood pumping--”

Brad cut him off with a laugh and another kiss.   


End file.
